


pretty princess, dirty whore

by aerospaces



Category: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them (Movies), Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them (Movies) RPF
Genre: Bad Dirty Talk, Crossdressing, Daddy Kink, Dirty Talk, Domestic Fluff, Established Relationship, Feminization, Impregnation kink?, M/M, Nicknames, RPF
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-30
Updated: 2017-07-30
Packaged: 2018-12-08 22:16:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,981
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11655813
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aerospaces/pseuds/aerospaces
Summary: “You and your dirty little mouth,” Colin says though it’s fond and lazy when the words roll out of his mouth like that, smooth as whiskey.





	pretty princess, dirty whore

**Author's Note:**

  * For [](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts).



> Title is from a poem (?) by Michael Faudet. I don't really read him (~should he exist at all~), but I thought the title was apt especially after [moonpunched](https://moonpunched.tumblr.com/) stumbled across it. I know at this point I should be replying to all the lovely comments people have left on _i carry your heart with me_ (thank you everyone T.T I died reading some of them), and I will, soon, I just didn't want this silly porn idea to leave me. It's sappy and pointless and vaguely dirty in places, the tone is confusing too, but oh well, what's done is done. Yep.
> 
> Feel free to drop me [a line on twitter!](https://twitter.com/rtenenbaums) :D

 

* * *

 

 

 

Coming home after weeks away is the best thing in the world as far as Ezra’s concerned. There’s no welcoming party, waiting for him at the airport, but that’s just par for the course; Colin is busy with a work-related something, and Ezra is familiar enough with the rhythms of his work schedule that he won't fault Colin for being a no-show. He hasn’t made any promises besides, and hanging out at the concourse would have only invited unwarranted attention. These days, Colin likes to keep a low profile, taking Ezra out on exotic holidays where the trees outnumber the populace four to one.

There’s always going to be that jolt of disappointment though, a tiny lance below Ezra’s left rib, but easily negligible. Ezra knows Colin will make it up to him, in some form or another, because when it comes down to it, he always does. No dramatic overtures, he doesn’t have a flair for spectacle like Ezra does, but probably something sweet, unexpected — it gets Ezra every time, embarrassed he may be to admit it. 

Flight time is six hours, and it takes another two before Ezra’s baggage checks out and he flags down an UBER. The drive home takes longer than he has the patience for, traffic starting to choke along Brooklyn bridge at a snail’s pace. He drums his fingers against his knee, tapping a restless beat to a song he’s just heard on the radio, fighting hard not to jiggle his leg. People often accuse Ezra of being over excited, over the top, or else having some form of ADD, but the truth is his eagerness is just something he finds difficult to tamp down often when faced with the things he loves. And Colin — well, he’s quickly on his way to becoming one of those things. 

Ezra hauls his luggage to the elevator, dragging his stuff down the shotgun hallway, swiping his card through the front door and toeing off his shoes in the den. He almost trips in his haste to run to the living room. The apartment is quiet, dark with the afternoon just starting to set in, but the lights flicker on one by one as soon as Ezra barrels into the hallway, feet thudding the floor. “Honey!” he calls out, laughing at his own joke. “I’m home!” 

There’s no response. Colin isn’t in the shower, or the bedroom, and it looks like the food on the kitchen table hasn’t been touched since this morning: a cold mug of coffee, the milk already congealing, and a bowl of soggy oatmeal, only half-finished. There’s a post-it note taped to the fridge, and Ezra plucks it off between his thumb and forefinger as he guzzles down a can of Pepsi. Normally, Colin won’t keep any of this stuff in the fridge, being such a health nut, but ever since they made the decision to move in together, he’s been pretty lenient about his food choices. 

Ezra sighs as he reads Colin’s chicken scratch. He won’t be home until tomorrow morning, promising to be on the first flight home from Dublin where he’s shooting his next film. Something about gangsters; Ezra hadn’t been paying attention when Colin was talking his ear off after having received the script in the mail, too busy trying to divert his attention by playing footsie under the table and tugging his zipper off with his toes. Ezra digs his phone out from his backpack, plugging it in to charge. He checks his inbox as soon as his phone powers on and sees several missed calls and a dozen unread messages all from Colin, apologizing for leaving last minute and not notifying him in advance. Colin has yet to use emojis correctly so there’s a number of misused ones peppering a few of his messages. Ezra sends him a text: two emoji he can only hope convey how direly he wants to give Colin a blowjob. He hopes Colin is able to interpret them correctly. In any case, he can always send him a video. He starts to strip down, wending his way to the bed which still smells an awful lot like Colin’s cologne.

*

There’s a game they like to play, that Ezra is half-embarrassed to admit he enjoys more than he probably should. It was one thing when they didn’t live together, and Ezra would pay Colin a visit and bring a duffel full of delicate underthings he sometimes paraded himself in while Colin watched him undress every single item of clothing. It had been a bit of a novelty, then, to wear short skirts and thigh-high stockings, socks with delicate lace trimming, and ride Colin’s lap in nothing but a skirt, and get fucked wearing a sheer babydoll dress that ended high above his thighs. He didn’t crossdress often, and Colin respected him too much to ask him to do it for him. It happened only when Ezra was feeling adventurous, or horny, or needy, sometimes all three, which meant they did it on his terms. 

And then they started living together, and Ezra began to test the waters, starting small by wearing crop tops and then moving on to lace panties underneath his jeans. Colin had caught him at it, when he was hauling the laundry from the dryer, fingering the delicate material of a pair of underwear that happened to be Ezra’s favourite: cotton, almost boring to a fault, but with a quaint little bow at the centre and the words “babydoll” printed on the ass. He’d laughed it off then, snatching it from Colin after making a joke, but he wasn’t laughing later when Colin tipped him into bed and hoisted his legs up on his shoulders, nearly bending him in two as he fucked him, long and hard, and calling him beautiful. 

They didn’t really talk about it. After — _after_ , Ezra started wearing whatever the hell he wanted; stuff he would not have worn in public without giving his publicist a heart attack. Drawstring shorts with floral patterns, pencil skirts and denim — all of them very short, inches above the knee and hardly covering his ass. But he liked how his legs looked in them, how Colin often ran his fingers up and down his thighs when they were on the sofa watching Netflix, bored out of their mind, as a pre-cursor to sex. He liked when Colin got handsy, grabbing him by the ass when he passed him in the kitchen after returning from his yoga class, or giving himself a hefty squeeze just because he knew he could get away with it, sometimes when they were making out against the fridge like a couple of teenagers, his hands so big they encompassed Ezra’s ass, kneading him so well Ezra started to hump against him in earnest.

There was also another aspect to the whole thing, and that was when Ezra called Colin _daddy_. 

*

It started off as a joke at first, something Ezra had shouted while he was being creamed within an inch of his life, his knees aching with the sharp indentations of the bathroom tile, his hole so stretched it was starting to gape. Then there was, afterwards, _the nickname_ , the one that Colin called him when he was drunk on exhaustion or breathless with lust, the one that made a part of Ezra fill up at the sound of it, with warmth that seeped all the way down to his toes: _princess._ Sometimes it was: _baby girl._ Not that Colin wanted a woman, far from it, it was just something to do, he’d said once, with the way Ezra looked. His mouth, he said, plush and always yielding. And his body so receptive to Colin’s touch, shuddering at the slightest glance of hands, though all these things Ezra already knew, even without Colin telling him. The man could undo him with just a look, topple him like a deck of cards. He’d follow him like an obedient dog, though whether or not he was obedient was up for debate. 

He liked being called princess because it made him feel soft and beautiful, like something small that needed protecting. Sometimes he did things just to see what Colin would do to him, like spill coffee on his favourite shirt, or hide his vinyl collection, scratch his car when he takes it out for a test drive. It got to a point where he would throw fits just for the hell of them, wanting badly to be reprimanded for them, waiting to unruffle Colin. When finally, Colin cottoned on, he sat Ezra down on the sofa and asked him if he was going through a “phase” as if Ezra was a teenager that warranted A Talk. The story spilled out of him later, when they were both in the dark and already half-asleep, Ezra running his thumbnail across Colin’s collarbone, scratching him out of his doze and making him snort awake. 

“I want,” Ezra said, crawling up to Colin’s side and pressing his lips to his ear. It was hard to be brave when he was baring his innermost desires, because _Jesus_ , the things that made him tick were a mile long list of _complicated_. But Colin tightened his arm around his waist, listening, and when Ezra continued and said, “I want you to be my daddy,” he just squeezed Ezra’s ass and laughed a little. He wasn’t mean about it or weird, just very quiet for a while, making Ezra nervous. He counted to ten under his breath and when Colin continued to say nothing, rolled onto his side, away from him, but Colin tugged him back and brushed the beard he was growing for a movie against Ezra’s cheek, speaking against his neck. “Hey, where are you going, baby? I thought you wanted me to be your daddy?” 

“No, you don’t get it, I mean — I want you to be my _daddy_.” And then Ezra explained, haltingly, what that word meant, and what he wanted, sitting up and turning the bedside lamp on so Colin could see he meant business. Talking had always been his forte; he was well-read enough to always be able to articulate himself even when high or running on barely any sleep. But it was hard-going explaining what he needed from Colin, how sometimes he wanted a firm hand, and bruises on his thighs. How he liked it when Colin had spanked him, that one time, kneeling on the floor with his wrists crossed in front of him and his ass raised in the air, his skin smarting with palm-marks, his face wet with snot and tears. How he liked to wear lingerie, on account of how pretty it made him feel, dainty, even, even with a film of hair covering his legs and chest. He wanted Colin to be his daddy, to protect him and love him and spoil him rotten, but also so he could fuck Ezra when he was being naughty, and discipline him when he most deserved it, whether that meant not letting him come or touch his own cock for hours, or leaving him hard and open with his thighs spread apart and tied to the bedposts. 

“Okay,” Colin said again, sounding breathless, but not completely unbelieving. “You want me to be your daddy?” 

Ezra nodded, ignoring the prickle at the back of his ears. “Is it weird? Am I weird?”

“No,” Colin said, quickly. “Of course not. You’re the most exquisite thing I’ve ever laid my eyes on, princess. And daddy’s a lucky man to have you in his life.”

Ezra smiled, preening. “Yeah?” he said. “Yes? What else, daddy? What else?” 

*

Ezra wakes with a start. He hates it when he has to sleep in a hotel because that means the bedside will be empty. He looks around, blinking blearily at the morning light permeating the curtains and realizes the bed smells familiar for a reason; it’s because he’s home. Colin won’t be back until after lunch so Ezra goes about his morning the usual way, pulling on a shirt of Colin’s and a pair of cotton undies with a tartan pattern. He makes himself breakfast, eating toast while checking his e-mail, reading Colin’s latest text with barely concealed glee: _i’ve got a surprise for you baby girl,_ it reads. Sans the usual ill-timed emoji. 

This could mean a number of things, but Ezra sincerely hopes it’s a sex thing. He loves sex things. He’s been missing his daddy something fierce ever since they had to part weeks ago, Colin to film his latest movie, Ezra to do reshoots. Colin’s given him toys on a number of occasions, a butt plug, a dildo, a vibrating egg that Ezra considers his new best friend, next to Lilah whom he’s known since high school. It’s gold too, and fancy, and he’d looked it up online the day after Colin had it delivered straight to his doorstep while being away on location. About six hundred bucks, without tax, with stellar reviews. He tries to get Colin’s money’s worth and use it whenever he can, packing it with him on travels, slipping it between his thighs and against his asshole as he humped a pillow he pretended was Colin’s lap. 

Colin is always generous with his gifts, and a lot of the time, almost to a fault; Ezra’s entire wardrobe — not the clothes he wears in public but those he prefers to keep indoors — was bought by Colin’s money. He’d given Ezra free reign over his credit card, hardly batting an eye whenever Ezra had something new delivered: skirts and dresses and knee-high socks to keep his legs warm during the colder months, frilly lingerie heavy with ruffles, and a corset with delicate clips and claps and whalebone stays. There’s also shoes; he loves shoes. He looks great in a sensible pair of high heels — even Colin says so, wrapping his hands around Ezra’s ankles and kissing the leather of his heel.Makeup Ezra keeps to a minimum, just lipstick and mascara, a bit of blush. 

Ezra stands in front of his dressing mirror in nothing but a pair of socks, figuring out what to wear to celebrate their long-awaited reunion. He snorts at himself as he thinks this. _Reunion_. He’s starting to sound like Colin, adopting bits and pieces of his vocabulary the way Colin has developed a habit of snacking after midnight over time. 

He should probably shave too, Ezra thinks, but Colin’s never been bothered by the abundance of body hair. He likes Ezra, he’d told him, in every shape of form, though he had a weakness for Ezra with longer hair, preferring that Ezra kept it loose in waves. He didn’t really mind that Ezra wore panties and didn’t shave his arms or legs, or that he sometimes wore a bra when he felt like it, underneath his clothes, but forewent getting his chest waxed. Still, Ezra gives himself a trim in front of the bathroom mirror, one leg hoisted over the sink as he spreads his thighs and runs a clipper under the taut skin of his balls. Later, he pads back to the bedroom to pull out clothes from their hiding places, boxes of new underwear he has yet to try, a pair of sheer pink stockings that have only seen the light of day once. Nothing interests him so he roots through Colin’s wardrobe instead, eyeing the basket of fresh laundry sitting in the den that he’d taken out of the machine just minutes before. He tugs one of Colin’s hoodie on, the material soft, worn from many washings, smelling faintly of flowery detergent and still warm from the dryer. It’s a big fit, because Colin sometimes likes to wear oversized clothing when he runs, the hem ending just above Ezra’s thighs, covering his lace underwear. 

Colin texts to update him on his plane having just touched down, but an hour and then two passes, and then there’s nothing from his end. Ezra’s phone doesn’t ring, and Colin doesn’t reply to any of his messages. Ezra falls asleep in the living room, porn streaming on his laptop. He’s never been a fan of porn, really, but sometimes, admittedly, it gets the job done. He’s been prepping himself up for half an hour, four fingers up in his ass to the knuckle, slick with lube, before fucking himself with a dildo to get himself hard but not enough to come, not yet. He’s woken by fingers carding through his hair, and blinks at the familiar silhouette leaning over him. He can’t find his underwear and his legs are fucking cold as ice. He sits up groggily, wondering what time it is.

“Hey princess,” Colin says, thumbing the corner of Ezra’s mouth where a line of drool has escaped. “How was your sleep?”

Ezra scrambles up from the sofa and nearly topples Colin on the floor by the force of his embrace, all but climbing into his lap and covering his face in noisy kisses. 

“God,” Ezra moans. “Daddy, I missed your handsome face.”

“Did you now?” Colin laughs, arms wrapping around Ezra, steadying him in his lap. “Well, I missed seeing your pretty little smile too.” 

When Ezra pulls back, Colin sweeps his hair aside, tapping him on the nose. “Hi,” he says, with a soft grin. Ezra grins back and presses a kiss to the tip of his finger. “Hi,” he says. “Did you get me anything?”

“I always get you something, princess.”

“Yes,” Ezra agrees. “But last time you got me a U2 record and I didn’t like it very much.” He tries not to roll his eyes or pout at the memory. 

Colin shrugs, not apologizing for it, because he’s always been an unabashed U2 fan, something decidedly very Irish about him. He reaches into the inside of his jacket pocket, the sides of which Ezra has bunched in fists, before pulling out a small box covered in dark blue velvet. Ezra doesn’t wear jewelry often, but when he plucks the necklace sitting prettily on a pillowy satin bed, he has to stifle a grin. He doesn’t know if Colin’s being serious right now — it’s well within the realm of his personality to buy Ezra irreverent gifts, just to make him laugh — but the _princess_ pendant just about takes the cake.

“I want you to wear it,” Colin says, watching his face closely. “When I’m fucking you, when I’m not.”

“ _Fuck_ ,” Ezra breathes, his hands shaking. He squirms in delight. “Fuck, _Colin_. _Daddy_ , of course I’ll wear it for you! I’ll wear anything you get me. Will you help me put it on —”

“Sure, baby, come here,” Colin says, and then pushes Ezra’s hair aside so he could clip it at the back. The chain sits cool against his skin, and he shivers, watching Colin’s eyes darken as he touches the pendant solemnly with his fingers. 

“God, you’re pretty,” Colin says. 

“I’m also not wearing any underwear,” Ezra tells him. He grins, batting his eyes. 

“Yeah, I could see that,” Colin says dryly, reaching under the hem of the hoodie and squeezing Ezra’s ass in palmfuls. He rolls the pad of a finger against Ezra’s perineum, working the digit in between Ezra’s cheeks to test the give of his hole, groaning when it sinks clean inside down to the very knuckle. “Been fingering yourself then? You’re all wet over here, could fee my finger slicking up.”

“Four fingers,” Ezra says, then exhales a shaky breath. He squirms around Colin’s finger, letting himself sink down without resistance, his cock stirring once more when Colin rubs a sweet spot. He wiggles, starting to pant, his mouth opening, closing, eyes half-lidded. “Because two won’t be enough to open me up for your fat fucking cock.”

“You and your dirty little mouth,” Colin says though it’s fond and lazy when the words roll out of his mouth like that, smooth as whiskey. 

“But you like me dirty,” Ezra reminds him, leading Colin’s hand under the hoodie so he could palm his chest and squeeze. “I’m your dirty little princess, you said, your pretty baby whore.”

“Jesus,” Colin says. “ _Christ on a —_ you’re killing me here, you know. Where’d you learn to say stuff like that, huh? Not from me, that’s for sure.”

Ezra nips him on the tip of the nose, biting his lip when he feels the insistent press of a second finger pushing up against the first one. He’s still a little dry, but it’s not entirely uncomfortable. “You gonna finger me, daddy? Come on, _please,”_ he whines _._ “Icome like crazy when you do. Just like a real girl.” He rolls his hips to exemplify his point, loving the way Colin grunts as he worms both fingers in and out, stretching Ezra as if he needed it, as if he hadn’t sat on that fucking dildo for twenty minutes straight and wished it was Colin he was riding like a fucking horse. 

“On your hands and knees,” Colin says. “And take your top off.”

“Like this?” Ezra asks, slowly lifting the hem over his chest but not taking it off completely. 

Colin kisses him then, rough and full of tongue, and when he pulls back, his eyes are dark with a look that makes Ezra shiver to his toes. “Don’t play coy with me or you’re not going to get any cock tonight.” He pats Ezra on the hip, urging him off his lap with a bounce of the knee. “Now be a good girl and face forward. On the floor, baby. Lift your ass and give daddy a good show.” 

When Ezra assumes the position after shrugging off the hoodie, resting his weight on his forearms with his ass in the air and his thighs spread wide, he hears Colin puttering behind him, rummaging through drawers, muttering. There’s the telltale snick of a bottle cap opening and then Ezra yelps as Colin breaches him with three fingers — so thick and big his cock starts to drool a thick line of pre-come on the floor. His knees start to shake intermittently, his thighs trembling from the effort of keeping himself braced.

“Shit!” Ezra shouts when Colin starts fingering him. “ _Daddy_! Not—not all at once or I’m gonna come all over the carpet.” He grits his teeth at the last stroke, stopping himself from riding Colin’s hand but somehow unable to, chasing the burn and the delicious stretch.

“It’s all right,” Colin soothes. “Let daddy see you come, I don’t mind, baby. Come when you need to.”

And Ezra does come, whimpering when Colin gives it to him good, thrusting his fingers in and out until Ezra slumps forward on his arms, cheek pressed to the carpet, eyes wet with unshed tears. Spatters of come coat his thighs, leaving wet spots on the carpet. He feels loose, after coming untouched, his ass dilating when Colin’s fingers slide out in increments before leaving him completely. It’s not the first time he’s come from getting fingered; he hadn’t been lying when he said he liked it when Colin did it, coming every time, harder still if Colin ate him out. 

“There’s a good girl. Did that feel good?” Colin rolls him onto his back gently. When Ezra looks down he can see the hard outline of Colin’s dick tenting his pants. God, he wants to sit on it. He spreads his legs, showing Colin his flushed hole, stripping a hand over his softened cock, but Colin just smoothes his hands up the hair on Ezra’s thighs and squeezes his leg. “You ready to take daddy’s cock?” 

Ezra nods eagerly, moaning at the sight of Colin taking out his hard dick, giving it a languorous stroke with a lube-coated hand. Ezra opens his mouth the second Colin guides his dick towards his face, crawling on his hands and knees to get a good suckle.He breathes in his musky scent before lowering his mouth over the head and swallowing him down, bobbing his head to get a steady rhythm going, choking on his girth but keeping at it. 

“Give it a kiss, baby. That’s it.” Colin groans, petting him on the head. “Good girl. Lap it up — get daddy nice and wet so he could fuck your pretty little hole the way you want to be fucked.” Colin pulls him off his dick with a sharp pop before easing him back on the carpet, his knees spread, his toes pointed in the air. Lying naked on the floor like this, Ezra feels vulnerable as a vein, and doubly exposed, his nipples flushed, his prick just starting to stiffen again, his hole opening under Colin’s searching thumbs, swallowing his cock like a hungry mouth. His thighs strain when Colin starts to move, rocking into him with barely any restraint, Ezra’s sock-covered ankles clutched in both hands. He hears himself whimpering, his breath getting choppier and choppier as his feet bob in the air with every deep thrust. 

“ _Ahn—ahn—ahn—”_ There’s precome, beading at the tip of his cock, glistening lewdly as Colin pistons in and out. 

“I like these socks,” Colin tells him, buried so deep Ezra can feel him up to his throat. He tugs at the lace with his teeth. “You look so pretty in them, princess.” Ezra flushes; he loves being called pretty. Cute, darling, beautiful, anything Colin calls him, he loves: slut, baby, little girl.

Colin reaches forward to touch the pendant sitting at Ezra’s throat and Ezra swallows, throat bobbing against the chain. _Princess_ , he thinks, and feels his face flush harder. He’ll be the best there can be; he’ll be good, sweet as cream, ripe as a cherry ready for plucking when daddy needs a hole to fuck, and then pure as an angel when there’s time to for gentleness. Leather one day, and then lace, all in service to making daddy happy.

“ _Daddy_ ,” Ezra whines, watching Colin move above him, fuck him still with his clothes on, in his leather jacket and crisp shirt open at the throat. “Daddy, _please_.”

“Please what, princess?”

“Please let me come,” Ezra breathes. “I’ll be good. I promise. Just let me —” He squeaks when Colin gathers him in his arms, pulling him upright, their bodies still connected. He lets Ezra straddle his lap, his cock still lodged inside him like a hot thudding fist, so big Ezra has to squirm to get it all inside him. He trembles when Colin buoys him up and down his dick, letting him ride him through every stilted breath, his hands grappling Colin’s shoulders, his dick rubbing a sticky mess all over Colin’s shirt.

“Daddy,” Ezra breathes, up and down Colin’s cock like a puppet on a string. “Daddy, daddy.”

“Yes, baby?”

“You’re so fucking big,” Ezra moans. “God, Jesus, I — _shit_.” He slumps forward, letting his temple press against Colin’s shoulder, dampening it with his sweat, his thighs moving of their own accord as he works himself down the head of Colin’s cock. “You’re gonna knock me up daddy if we aren’t careful.”

“Ezra,” Colin says, his voice strained. “ _Baby_.” 

“But it’s _so_ good, daddy,” Ezra continues, riding Colin’s dick, harder, faster, whimpering when Colin’s fingers tighten on his hips. He loops his arms around Colin’s neck. “Your dick is so big,” he whispers. “And you’re so good at fucking.”

“Jesus,” Colin hisses. “You’re worse than—”

“A slut?” Ezra supplies, drunk on arousal. “Whose fault do you think it is? Who do you think made me this way? You ruined me daddy. You made me love your cock so much it’s all I can think about when you’re not around.” He laughs when Colin growls into his ear, pushing him onto his back and fucking him fast and rough, just the way Ezra likes it, just the way he’s always needed it. Colin stops for nothing, the slip and slide of their bodies echoing in the otherwise silent room, interspersed with the intermittent creak of the coffee table whose leg Ezra has desperately clutched in both hands in a death grip, tipping his knuckles white. Ezra comes the second Colin floods him with a hot load of come, a weak swipe to his cock that has him spurting all over himself like a teenager. 

He nearly goes blind at the force of his orgasm that Colin has to haul him back to the sofa and give him a wipe down. Colin tosses his jacket over his shoulder, shimmying out of his pants before leaning over Ezra, tracing the outline of the gilded letters at his throat.

“Thanks for the gift,” Ezra mumbles sleepily, squeezing the hand Colin cups over his face. “I’ll wear it and think of you.”

Colin laughs. “Don’t be cheeky.”

“Maybe you should get a matching one,” Ezra suggests. “One that says daddy, all manly and masculine. Made of barbed wire and leather.” He sticks out his tongue when Colin pokes him in the ribs and attempts to tickle him. “Or a tattoo,” Ezra says, as an afterthought, slapping Colin’s wayward hands off his person but without any real force or heat to it. “On your bicep.”

“The press will have a field day,” Colin says, sounding a bit mournful.

“Let them wonder,” Ezra says. He certainly likes to do that enough to keep the masses guessing. He grins when Colin kisses him, sweet and unexpected, cutting him off mid-sentence, mid-thought. Sometimes, he hates when Colin does it, if only because he forgets what he’s supposed to do in the first place, his thoughts losing traction, his toes curling up like leaves in a hot summer. 

“Someday, maybe, I could, probably,” Colin says, tapping a rhythm against Ezra’s collarbone with the pads of his fingers, then kissing the pendant nestled there. “But for now I think I’ll leave the grand overtures to you.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


End file.
